Deus Necros

The sigil was awkward, to say the least. It was composed of concentric circles, each containing strange symbols between the layers, twisting and turning into one another like some ancient code. Ludwig stared at it, his skeletal mind racing to understand its form and purpose. Yet, despite its intricate design, the sigil was surprisingly simple for him to remember.

It etched itself into his consciousness the moment he laid eyes on it, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

Once memorized, the sigil would serve as a contract between the caster and Deus Necros himself. Channeling mana into the sigil was the key to opening the path between the world of the living and the shadowed realm of the dead. The sigil allowed the caster to summon a soul back into its once-living body, but not to life—only to undeath.

The resurrected wouldn’t be truly alive, only an animated shell filled with the soul’s lingering essence.

Ludwig reread that part carefully, almost feeling the weight of responsibility settle over him like a heavy cloak. There was no going back once the process started. Healing the undead was impossible and would actually cause them great harm. The dead were not meant to be restored to life; any attempt to force that change would incur consequences both magical and divine.

More importantly, the text emphasized, the soul was never truly yours. It was borrowed, a loan granted by Deus Necros. And the loan must be returned. Failure to do so—whether by keeping the soul too long or attempting to change its nature—would result in dire consequences, angering the god who jealously guarded the souls of the departed.

Trust me, it’s not worth it, the book warned in an ominous tone. The words lingered in Ludwig’s mind, growing darker with every passing thought.

Once the sigil was complete and mana funneled into it, the gate between realms would open. Though the gate was invisible to mortal eyes, its power was undeniable, and the summoned soul would regain its former body. Ludwig couldn’t help but wonder how it worked—how a skeleton without tendons or muscles could move. But that was where the magic came into play.

The mana supplied by the caster animated the corpse, taking the place of the physical connections that were no longer present. The undead would remain active as long as the caster’s mana flowed into it. However, once the connection was established, the caster couldn’t simply cut off the mana flow. The undead would persist, so long as there was mana to fuel it.

Ludwig’s thoughts were racing now. Was he really ready for this? Could he actually summon something from the dead?

The book posed a final, almost taunting question: So, are you willing to risk bringing back a rat? Or are you too terrified to even try?

“Not gonna lie,” Ludwig muttered, “I really would like to try that, but there are no rats in sight.” He sighed, massaging his temples out of habit. His skeletal fingers scratched against the surface of his skull, emitting an eerie screeching sound that only worsened his headache. The dull throbbing in his mind was a constant reminder of the burden he now carried.

A voice suddenly cut through the silence, cold and sharp. “Rats? But there are!”

Ludwig froze. That voice… He recognized it immediately. Van Dijk was standing behind him, his presence as unsettling as ever. The Tower Master had a way of appearing without warning, as if he moved through the very shadows themselves, always watching, always waiting.

Ludwig turned slowly, his hollow eyes meeting Van Dijk’s gaze. There was something sinister in the man’s expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement as he watched the skeleton mage struggle with the weight of his newfound knowledge.

Ludwig swallowed hard, though he had nothing to swallow. A nervous tick left over from his previous life, a useless gesture in his current state. Still, the terror was real.

“Seems like you were busy yesterday,” Van Dijk remarked casually, though his voice was lined with a predatory edge. “Or perhaps you got too bored with the books I gave you and decided to read something more… advanced?”

Only then did Ludwig realize how much time had passed. The sun had already risen, its light filtering through the high windows of the study. He had spent the entire night reading, consumed by the words and the knowledge they contained. His hunger for understanding had blinded him to the passing hours.

“I have already finished the books,” Ludwig responded cautiously, unsure of how Van Dijk would react.

Van Dijk’s brows furrowed, a mixture of skepticism and intrigue crossing his face. “Did you, now? Did you perhaps only pick one up? Because there are more than a hundred books here,” Van Dijk said, gesturing to the stacks scattered across the table.

“All the books, Master Van Dijk,” Ludwig affirmed.

Van Dijk’s frown deepened as he moved closer, his long fingers tracing the spines of the books. With one hand, he picked up a random volume and flipped through it, his eyes scanning the pages. “Northern Sea,” he said, stopping abruptly midway through the book. “What is the name of the Fleshless Guardian protecting the Endless Peak?”

Ludwig’s bony brow furrowed in concentration. “The Northern Sea has no mountains, Master. It’s a cold, icy expanse of water. The Endless Peak lies within the territory of the Azure Eternal Dragon, though its exact location is unknown. As for the Fleshless Guardian, he’s the strongest known Knight of Undeath, and his name is Mord’Xander.”

Van Dijk’s expression shifted into a pleased smirk. “Oh, quite the scholar, aren’t we? I suppose you really did read everything, then. I was hoping for a trick question to catch you off guard.” His eyes gleamed with amusement, though there was something darker lurking beneath the surface. “How did you do it?” he asked.

Ludwig remained calm, gesturing towards the book still in Van Dijk’s hand. “Master, the book is upside down, and it’s about proper etiquette at a Tower Academy. That’s how I knew.”

For a moment, there was silence, then a low chuckle escaped Van Dijk’s lips. His grin widened. “Well, well. You’re becoming more expressive, more capable of independent thought. I see I’ll need to adjust my plans for you,” he said, as if to himself.

Without another word, Van Dijk reached into his coat and pulled out a small jar, placing it directly in front of Ludwig. Inside the jar was a piece of rotting flesh, old and withered, inscribed with faint runes barely visible to the naked eye.

“Let’s see if you’ve truly learned something,” Van Dijk said, his voice low and filled with expectation. His eyes burned with dark excitement. “Let’s bring you back to life!”